Project 'X'
by Soona
Summary: Based after the 2014 movie. Crime is rising during the city's heatwave. The Turtles and April endeavour to find out who is behind the growing new criminal threat known by the media as the 'X' Clan, whilst trying to shake off the attentions of a psychotic vigilante whose interest they have piqued. Rated M for violence, swearing and mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

TMNT : Project X

This story is based after the events of the 2014 movie. There will be blood and some graphic violence. I will keep them to a minimum as I feel over-exposure of anything tends to lower the shock value…which is needed. There may also be some romance between the characters although I'm not entirely sure what to do with that as yet. I will say this though, Casey has had a gender change. I really just wanted to mess around with that.

Disclaimer: I so do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

 **Chapter One: After the Dust Settles.**

Raphael wandered the dark labyrinthine tunnels alone and muttering to himself. On occasion, a drain access hole allowed a soft beam of moonlight to squeeze into the sewer, bouncing off the glistening roaches on the wall. Raphael had seen them all before and they bothered him as much as they ever did. Their scurrying antics provided slight interest after he had grown weary of listening to his ipod – one ear only, the other free to listen for screams. All he heard now were the tiny scratching of the insects' tiny feet upon the brick. The smell of ammonia and methane filled the air as he trudged forward. It wasn't perfect but it was home to him and his family and it came rent-free. He was used to the stench as he'd grown up with it, although for the last couple of blocks he was sure he could detect the unmistakable whiff of cooked chicken trying to fight through the noxious fumes. He put it down to chilli chicken pizza they had eaten an hour ago that might still have lingered on his fingers.

He was halfway through his patrol and there had been nothing of note. He had decided to forgo roaming the rooftops and instead kept underground. He could still prowl the city as a vigilante this way and besides, the city nights were getting hotter and he welcomed the coolness of the wet underground. As a turtle, he would have been happy for the warmth. As a mutant, part humanoid, his body's temperature gauge was…complex.

As he rounded a corner, he became aware of his muscles tensing and he allowed two digits to rest upon his sai, comfortably sheathed in his wrap. Realising he was holding his breath, he gasped aloud and continued on his way. He was approaching The Site, that last resting place of Oroku Saki – The Shredder. The force of impact of his –now deceased- mighty and skilled opponent had shattered and pushed the paving stones above into the domain below and it was a reminder of how close he and his brothers came to becoming extinct. Donny had long droned on about how they were effectively a new species and although they had started out as your normal, garden variety turtles, they were now something else, something new in the chain, a man-made construct with a little bit of natural magic thrown in for good measure. Leonardo said it was fate and Donny proclaimed it was a scientific miracle. The youngest brother, Michelangelo agreed with them both, happy to sit on the fence. Raphael saw it differently. He and his brothers were freaks, nothing more and he was more than certain that that's what Humans would class them as too. There was a good reason why Splinter was resistant to their exposure and they all fully understood to a degree. Raphael certainly understood. To him, most humans were nothing more than Surface Dwellers who were terrified of anything that wasn't _completely_ human. And yet they would never be freaks to him as he was to them. He and his brothers grew up with their culture, their tastes and desires. The more he thought about it the more it annoyed him. That he and his brethren should be so immersed in their ways and be so different, so excluded. It was unfair. April and Vernon didn't count as Raphael had decided that they were exceptions and couldn't be counted as the majority.

Raphael looked up at the shards of the old paving stones – the ones that had provided a full stop to Oroku Saki. The city council had quickly moved to repair the Shredder-shaped hole but it was a surface job only, leaving the battered remains of once was to the eyes of those who lived in the sewers. Even now, slimy bacterial growth had begun to claim the jagged stone and so life went on.

He often wondered where the authorities had taken the body of The Shredder. Each of the turtles at that time were so preoccupied by Splinter's recovery that they had not bothered to check whether the man behind the metal suit was alive but they all eventually reasoned that he couldn't possibly be. Raphael realized he was holding his breath again. There was something eerie about this place. The air was filled with a ghostly air. Out of nowhere a voice shattered the silence, causing Raphael to jump and grab at his sai.

'Raph, do you copy?'

'Donnie! What the Hell are you playing at? I almost jumped out of my shell. I could have been engaged in combat or sneaking up on perps,' Raphael growled.

'You wouldn't have your Talkie on if you were stalking crims. Besides, you're still underground. I can see you on screen.'

Raphael sighed. Donnie was forever experimenting with his new gadgetry on his brothers. 'Have you put another tracking device on me, Don?'

'Had to check out the upgrade. It's working great. There's just a few bugs to iron out. Um… '

'What is it Donny? I know you're up to something. I can hear it in your voice'

'Nothing much. Are you going anywhere near 15th?'

Raphael groaned. 'I'm not picking up mucus for you.'

'It's not mucus. It's an organism that I'm sure has never seen before and it's growing here, where _we_ live.'

Raphael heard the growing excitement in Donatello's voice and cleared his throat in order to distract him from the inevitable scientific rant.

' Er…anyway, I saw some on my last round. I just didn't have any petri dishes on me.'

'And what makes you think I have any?' Raphael hissed struggling to keep his patience in check.

'I taped a couple on your shell when you weren't looking. I knew you wouldn't take 'em willingly.'

Raphael frowned and grabbed at the side of his shell. He wrenched the tape off and held the bag holding the petri-dishes aloft. He had wondered what that clinking sound was for the last couple of miles. He was almost speechless…almost.

'DONNIE! When I get back there, I'm gonna shove…'

'Ohh, scchrruuu shhhh, I think the signal's going. Sscchhhh! Don't forget the sample. Oh, wait a minute, Mikey wants to speak to you.'

Raphael rolled his eyes. He knew what this was going to be about.

'Dude! It's your favourite bro here. What's up.'

'Forget it. I'm not looking out for porno magazines for you,' Raphael hissed.

'Aww man, you must think I have a one track mind. No bro. I need you to check out that new pizza place on Fulton. Oh and see if Vincent's around. He needs feeding.'

Raphael shuddered. Mikey had befriended a stray feline during the last few weeks and despite protestations from all sides, he had decided to adopt it. The cat had grown to trust Mikey but hated every single one of his brothers. All of them had come back at one time or another with scratches on their arms and cat spittle on their faces. Raphael had even once suggested that Mikey rename the cat Shredder Junior much to everyone's' pained nods of agreement and Splinter had steadfastly refused to let his youngest son bring the feline home for obvious reasons.

Raphael gave a low growl. 'I'm not feeding your cat again. Besides, I don't have any food on me,' he reasoned.

'Yeah you do Dude. I strapped some chicken on your shell when you weren't looking.'

And so the mystery of the strange aroma of chicken in the air was solve. Raphael felt the colour rising in his cheeks. 'Right. That is it! Just you wait until I get…Mikey? Hey numbnuts! Damn.'

Oh there would be Hell to pay when he got back. In the meantime, he had a cat to feed and goo to collect. Raphael shoved the chicken in the bag with the petri dish and with a world weary sigh he continued on to Fulton Street.

….

It had been a long night for Lucio. Friday nights often were. Once the bars and clubs had ejected their loud, unsteady and hungry patronage, the run was on. After a few months, juggling toppings and flinging cheese on a thin bready base became second nature to him and although the warmth of the kitchen ovens had become unbearable in the current heat-wave the city was suffering through, Lucio's business venture was proving lucrative. Caprioli's had only just opened their pizzeria and to his and his brother's joy, the demand for their cuisine was high. It also helped that his restaurant was in spilling distance of the great City's nightlife. In spite of the late night to early morning rush, as tiring as it was, Lucio knew it was all worth the hassle. Lost in thought that perhaps one day his restaurant would become a chain, Lucio locked the side entrance to his pizzeria and started down the long alley toward the street, happy in his daydreams. He was halfway down the path when he became aware of figures lurking in the shadows ahead of him. Their silhouettes were barely visible in the gloom of the alley, but Lucio could count three figures huddled together. He stopped dead and hoped that he hadn't drawn their attentions, but as the mumbled conversations between them hushed into silence, Lucio knew that any luck he felt had taken a vacation, scarpering into the shadows with its tail between its legs.

'Hey! What you lookin' at? '

Lucio was not sure which of the figures growled the question, but he could understand the tone in the questioner's voice and he knew he was in trouble.

'Sorry, it's nothing, it's nothing', he whispered. Lucio turned and slowly walked back down the alley back toward his restaurant. He remembered something his father had said about keeping your head high in times of confrontation and to never, NEVER show your fear. It was sage advice to hear when sitting on a sofa in a place you felt safe but Lucio had two large walls either side of him and was flanked by three would-be muggers, or maybe they had something more for him in mind. Yes he was frightened. Still, he kept his pace and in deference to his father's advice, he didn't speed up or break into a run although he desperately wanted to, but continued toward a safer place as though he was avoiding a flooded street. When he heard footsteps behind him, he took a deep breath and winced. He could feel his pulse pushing against his neck as the footsteps behind him got quicker. Lucio was quite a way from the door into safety and knew that the odds of him escaping his pursuers weren't in his favour, so he stopped, and turned.

'I don't have anything on me.' He said in a voice that trembled.

'Hey, Paison, we didn't ask. Did we ask,bro?'

Now that Lucio could see the figures he knew he was in deep trouble. He'd read about them in the papers and seen the reports of the growing crime waves by these people but he never imagined he would become one of their victims and yet, here they were, standing in front of him. Their hair was braided tightly in the back and on their faces above the eyebrow was the mark of a simple 'X'. It was drawn on with what the media had reported as 'washable ink' with the teenagers that had been in custody. The marks on the thugs in front of him looked permanent, deep. He was in danger.

'Please…'

Lucio's voice was merely a whisper now as his father's advice crumbled around him. As the head X Thug headed toward him, Lucio lowered his head and gave a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening. He couldn't think of anything else to do. That's when he heard a painful yelp echo in the alley. Lucio lifted his head and watched agape as one of the thugs fell to the dry pavement, clutching his temple. The lead thug stopped his reach of Lucio, his hands suspended in the air like a dummy without the wires, turning to see what ailed his partner in crime. Lucio heard a whoosh of air and the second assailant was down clutching his temple, echoing his friend and rolling on the floor. Both Lucio and the lead X watched as the stone rolled across the ground.

'What the Hell!' Roared the lead thug, his head twisted back, scouring the alley.

Silence lingered for a tense few seconds before a voice filtered through the night sky, making Lucio and his attacker wilt.

'Hey Scum. Pick on someone your own size.'

The voice was metallic and rasping and heavy with threat. Lucio was relieved and at the same time, there was something in that voice that made his stomach lurch.

The X that still stood, turned his back to Lucio and was desperately looking about him, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice.

'Show yourself, you piece of shit and I'll show you pain.'

Lucio saw it first. The figure dropped quietly from the top of the roof and eased its way down the exterior stairwell, keeping still and cloaked by shadow when the X glanced in his direction.

'Where the fuck are you?' Hissed the thug.

'Hey, _Paison_. Do you like Golf? Me, I can't stand the game.'

Lucio watched with his mouth open as the figure landed a good few feet away from X. His saviour was smaller than his attacker by a couple of inches and he had a lithe air about him. He wore a leather jacket cut by the waist and grey cargo pants which were dirty and ragged. The lead thug certainly won the battle of the bulk and there was nothing about the have a go hero that sparked confidence except for the voice and then there was the headgear the figure wore – a yellowing hockey mask with splattered brown stains across the cheeks and forehead. He stood in front of his larger quarry brandishing a long stick of metal with a bulbous head that looked to Lucio like a golf club.

X started to laugh, but never took his eyes away from the strange figure in front of him. He lazily pulled out a machete from the side of his belt and with a grin, thrust it in an arc in front of him. Lucio could see how this was going to end and gave a small whine. After the Foot Clan's rise and its subsequent disappearance, questions were raised about the police's involvement or more pertinently their lack of it. They had claimed to have brought about the end of The Foot's reign of terror but New York citizens were not convinced. They'd had the wool pulled over their eyes too often and there had been word on the streets for a while about mysterious vigilantes that had done the job the police were too corrupt and too lazy to do. Lucio had heard it all in his restaurant. There were stories about massive figures in masks prowling the city, stepping out of the shadows and stopping crime before vanishing in the blink of an eye. Then there were the theories about this group that ranged from the commonplace to the utterly insane. Lucio's favourite rambling was from a rather drunken fellow convinced that the vigilantes were a group of reptilian aliens that were sent to save New York. Instead of the wild speculations, Lucio could now see that the vigilante was in fact nothing more than a hockey fan clutching a Golf club.

'Say your prayers. You're a dead man,' growled the thug.

Lucio watched as X swung the blade with all his might against his smaller attacker who jumped back in one swift move. The blade missed his torso by inches. In turn, Hockey Mask deftly jabbed the length of the metal under X's jaw, pushing his chin up and moving him a couple of steps back. The force of the next hit with the full swing of the club made Lucio wish that he had turned his gaze. Anything but being a witness to the splatter of red and hearing the crack of X's jaw. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after the first hit. X hit the floor, knocking into his two comrades as they tried to rise. The mask didn't stop. Again and again the club came down upon the group. The dull thudding and agonized groans made Lucio turn and stagger toward a skip.

'Please. Stop.' Lucio uttered.

The whooshing of metal through air halted and heavy breaths remained. The mask was done with his _sport_.

'You okay?' The vigilante asked in a voice that was more irritated than concerned.

'Fine. I'm fine. Thu-thanks. Please, please don't kill them.'

Lucio looked pleading at the Hockey Mask and saw the startling grey eyes behind them. They were cold and seemingly furious that someone had halted the progress of punishment.

'They didn't hurt me,' was all Lucio could stammer.

The mask looked over the three crawling figures, and then lowered his club.

'I'm finished here. I'll walk you to the street.'

Lucio gave a faint nod that hid his worry that this psychopath would be keeping him company down the dark narrow alley. The way the masked man had changed from aggressive to passive was too quick to be normal but Lucio was not going to argue. It reminded him of something his father used to say: 'Know your crazy people and never antagonise them.'

The minute spent walking away from the agonized groaning was the longest Lucio had spent. It wasn't an awkward silence, just a fearful one. In a small gesture – safely on the street and surrounded by drunken passer-by's and taxis, Lucio proffered his business card with trembling fingers to the Mask with a promise that all pizza's would be delivered free for him if he wished.

Hockey Mask looked at the business card for what seemed like an eternity and then spoke.

'Mmm, thanks but I'd rather lick a frog than eat that junk. Goodnight.'

Standing trembling by the road, Lucio watched agog as the Mask slipped back down the alley toward the scene of the crime. He rubbed his temples and pursed his lips. Lucio didn't want to spend hours in a police station explaining the night's unusual events to officers, who would nod, file a report and do little else, and so he headed home. There was nothing more he could do.

...

So there we go. First chapter up. Please let me know if you like it and I'll get going with some more chapters. I have only been to New York once and street names and places used in the story might not make much sense, for which I apologize in advance.


	2. Chapter 2: A Meeting of Sorts

A/N: Many thanks for the reviews and watches. This chapter was a bit problematic for me, and so took a while to polish. Hope you enjoy!

Project X Chapter 2: A Meeting of Sorts

Leonardo sat in front of the monitors, his cobalt blue eyes glancing at each screen trying to find any sign of misdeeds caught on security cameras that were dotted around the city. Of late, there were more robberies, more brutality and increased homicides since the heat-wave descended and this new gang called The X-Clan was behind most of the chaos. There wasn't an area of the City that had been left untouched by this new threat and it was becoming a major frustration for him and his brothers, who were adept at covering a goodly amount of ground but were beginning to fall short because of the sheer amount of criminal activity. The situation was getting out of hand and was becoming way beyond the scope of the group.

Day and night the brothers' listened to police sirens screaming though the city, trying to answer the anguished cries of a scarred city that was succumbing to yet another wound. Because of the crime wave, Splinter had relaxed his concerns about the team splitting up in order to better patrol larger areas of the city. Leonardo had agreed with this decision as he usually did with most of his father's views. The City was reaching breaking point and they were running out of options. Even so, as independent ninjas, they were instructed to keep contact at certain intervals. Leonardo also suggested an updated version of their trackers, which he had Donnie construct. The trackers were now equipped to provide information regarding which ground levels the brothers were patrolling – a valuable addition which the previous gadgets had lacked.

Donnie had rose to the occasion as always and Leonardo had watched as his genius brother set to work with deft fingers and quick, problem-solving zest. It made Leo smile as he thought of Donnie constructing his latest with his tongue sticking ever so slightly out of his mouth, deep in concentration. On occasion, Mikey took on the role of assistant, which he was happy to do, although most of the time he was relegated to fetcher. Fun loving and wearing his heart on his sleeve more often than not, Michelangelo was the youngest of the four brothers and was always eager to learn. For all the years they had lived and fought side by side, Leonardo had never been more proud of his brothers but he was still worried about Raphael. Since their victory over Oroku Saki two years ago, Raphael had become even more sullen, quieter and less snappish than usual. Leo cared about his family deeply and the about-turn in his brother's demeanour unsettled him. Raphael was sometimes too brash, too eager to prove his worth even though he didn't need to and this let him open to risk, but now, Raphael seemed to be distracted, less able to concentrate as he once did. Something was bothering his brother but he couldn't broach the subject until Raphael gave some indication of wanting to talk. For now he was reticent and unwilling to say what was on his mind and Leo wouldn't push him.

Leonardo rolled the battered old office chair to the end monitor and glanced at the screen with the blinking red dot. He peered at it for some time, his brown drawn. The dot remained in the same position for a few seconds and then began to move. Leo let out a breath and went back to his vigil.

…

Raphael lifted the manhole cover gently and peered out into the yellow hued alleyway next to the pizzeria. Each object hit by the sickly light cast shadows that made the stretch creepy and full of potential hiding places. When Raphael was sure there were no lurkers in the dark spots, he patted his sai on each side of his waist sash and decided to proceed. The soft scraping of metal being lifted off the rim was covered by the sound of low groans a good few yards into the gloom. He looked above the rim and could just make out three hunched figures limping away in the distance, two of them carrying the weight of the third man who was being dragged onwards by the couple. He knew from the heavy, laboured breaths that they were almost certainly in pain. With one last quick look around, Raphael crawled out from the sewer and into the alley, quietly replacing the cover behind him. With one strong leap, he found the first floor stair platform and hauled himself onto it. He traversed the stairs as quick as he could with silent footsteps until he reached the roof.

It took him little time to bridge the gap between him and the groaning group below him. Positioning himself ahead of the gang, he carefully looked over the parapet and stared at the trio. From what he could see, the man on the left had what looked like a head wound. There was no mistaking the dark trickle running from his temple to his chin. The man on the far right of him occasionally rubbed the small of his back and sniffled. It was obvious that they had been attacked. Raphael squinted as they came closer to line of sight. There was a mark on the head of the man on the right that he recognized. He gave a low huff and felt a lot less concerned about the wounded group. The trio belonged to the X-Clan or The New Scum as Raphael liked to call them. They were not as skilled or as deadly as the Foot Clan and they were certainly not as organized, but what the X-Clan lacked in finesse they made up for in numbers and that was the big worry. He knew that Leo often fretted about this new criminal breed and was increasingly concerned about the growing trend with the X-Clan to recruit the indigent and disaffected to their cause.

Raphael turned his attention to the man being dragged along by his cohorts. He was the most seriously injured and bleeding badly from his mouth, leaving a dark trail on the paving stones behind him which glistened like oil under the moonlight. From the look of it, he had been bludgeoned in the face with force. He was alive but Raphael suspected he was concussed and had possibly had his jaw dislocated. He didn't feel any pity for the man at all, but there were warning bells going off inside his head. This wasn't the first time he'd come across known criminals that had been badly beaten and Leo had told him he'd overheard a couple of goons talking about a man in a mask that was prowling the streets and meting out vigilante justice with brutal and unrelenting fury.

'That's all we need. Another psycho roaming the town,' he whispered to himself.

'My thoughts exactly. Bit early for Halloween isn't it?'

Raphael spun around to face the raspy metallic voice and was confronted by a slight figure wearing a hockey mask, slapping the head of a baseball bat on gloved palms. The figure took a step back when the Turtle turned. Raphael felt a sense of victory when he heard the tinny breath catch behind the mask.

'Take a good look in the mirror when you ask someone that pal,' growled Raphael.

The figure breathed hard for a few moments before responding. 'Well, you're new. What the hell are you?'

'A New Yorker. That your handiwork down there?' Raphael nodded his head toward the groaning trio below in the alley.

The masked figure shifted a little. 'What if it is? This city needs cleaning up from the freaks that think they own it.'

There was an accusatory tone in the masked figures voice that irked Raphael no end. The word 'freak' was emphasized and he just knew that little verbal bullet was aimed squarely at him.

'You don't own it either, bud. Maybe you should think about that next time you're about to dish it out.' Raphael took a step closer to the figure that dwarfed him by a few inches. He was aching for him to swing that bat. 'We don't take kindly to nut jobs thinking they own this city.'

The figure cocked his head to the side and gave a terse snort. 'We? Are there more than one of you…reptiles? Well, at least you're smaller than the other lot'

Raphael bristled. Time and again he was told by Leo not to exchange too many words with their quarry lest he give out information that didn't need to be shared and if his brother was here now it would be another one of his 'looks' at Raphael.

'Enough chit chat, scum. You've done enough damage already. Seriously, you'd be better off in a cell.' Raphael gave the figure a long look. 'Or a padded room.' Raphael stepped closer and took some rope from the back of his waist sash.

The figure took a step toward Raphael. 'I'm not the one who should be locked in a cage, scrotum face. I can only wonder what colour your bruises will be in the morning.'

Raphael sneered and shook his head. 'Man, you're bolshie, I'll give you that, but you ain't gonna do much damage with a piece of polished wood.'

The mask nodded thoughtfully for a second before crouching and swinging the bat at Raphael's ankles. Raphael was caught off guard and felt the impact on his ankle bone. He fell back hard onto his shell and was relieved with the absence of the sound of cracking. Donnie's medical epoxy glue was doing its stuff. He was pissed though and as the masked figure swung the bat down toward his face, Raphael grabbed the shaft and growled 'You are so dead.'

The figure tried to wrench the bat away from Raphael's grip but the creature was too strong. Knowing which way the tide was turning, the mask gave a little growl, turned and shot across the rooftop.

'You can keep the bat' the figure shouted back… '…a memento to remember me by, Frrrrrreak.'

'Asshat ….'

Raphael rocked on his shell and righted himself, giving chase, knowing the pursuit wouldn't last long. Although he wasn't as fast on his feet as Mikey or Don, he and his brothers were swifter than any human alive and there was no way the perp was getting away with laying him on his ass.

He was closing in and watched as the figure neared the ledge. This was it. The gap was too wide for a human to cross and if he went down the stairwell, that would slow the psycho down too. Raphael watched with a growing sense of excitement as the figure hesitated at the edge. His speed faltered slightly as the psycho turned around and threw something at him. It took a few more steps before Raphael felt a sharp pain zip up his calf. He fell onto the floor and grabbed his ankle, the same one that had been walloped by the bat.

'Ow, ow, ow.' Raphael growled and yanked the metal object out of his flesh. There was a little bleeding but nothing to be concerned about. He looked over to the ledge and saw that the figure was already gone.

'BASTAAAAARD!' He yelled.

He turned his attention back to the weapon in his hand. He eyed the Shuriken between his fingertips between narrowed eyes and murmured 'son of a bitch.'

Casey jumped down each level of the stairwell and launched over the last balcony before landing on hard ground. She felt the vibration of impact up her legs but no pain. It had taken years of practice to land correctly, judging distances and knowing when to bend your knees was key. It made her escapes quick and her ankle muscles tough. She sprinted through the alleyways breathing hard and looking back to see if her pursuer was near.

After a minute of flat out running, Casey found her way over to an abandoned crate and sat on it. She took off her mask and sighed. She couldn't believe what had happened to her in the last few weeks. It wasn't so much a brush with Wonderland than a complete immersion in The Twilight Zone. Casey wasn't sure exactly what that creature was although she presumed it was some kind of tortoise, but she was certain she knew where it had come from. 'Shells and horns and bacon, oh my!' she stifled a laugh and then growled. It was hugely irritating that she had lost her baseball bat to the weirdo. She still had the cricket bat but it just wasn't the same. She was irked that yet again she hadn't been able to kill the beast.

Of course, there was always next time.

 **…**

Raphael limped back through the alleyways muttering under his breath. For a ninja, mastering to control pain was second nature to him, but as much as he tried to ignore the twinges they would appear every so often. The worst wound was to his ego. He knew he got cocky. Humans were small and helpless at times which is why he and his brethren did what they did to protect them. If he had to fight them he would inevitably win. When he chased them they would be caught. Raphael had assumed that the psycho was just another unskilled combatant but it was obvious that he had some skill and that nasty little three pronged Hira Shuriken came out of freaking left field.

It was around two thirty in the morning when Raphael returned to the lair. He'd given some thought about informing Leo over the Walkie-Talkie about the nights events but he reasoned that it would be best to be present when he told his brothers so he could smack them -or rather, Mikey –round the head when he made fun at his expense. They were still getting used to the new place even though they had been there for a while. After Shredder and his cronies originally found the Turtles' and Splinter's base, they had to move. They finally found a decent sized plot under a derelict fire station. Equipment and a sparse amount of furniture were transported to the spot and the family settled to a degree. Donnie had even installed an extractor fan to keep the air less sewer-like. It was a request by April that the group had universally agreed on. Raphael smiled. It hadn't taken much persuasion to convince Donnie. He was always up for a technical challenge and like everything else he put his hand to, the results were startlingly efficient. Raphael didn't even begrudge him the disgusting moment when he got some of Donnie's bio-goo on his finger. He walked into the large grey bricked room to find his family in front of the monitors.

Leo turned first. 'Hey Raph. Anything to report? Whoa, what happened to your ankle?'

Michelangelo swung his chair around and looked sheepishly at Raphael. 'Vincent?' he asked.

'Not exactly,' replied Raphael. He limped over to his brothers and held up the petri dish to Donatello. 'Your slime.'

A wizened voice behind him made him drop his shoulders. He was hoping that his sensei wouldn't notice the wound, ergo, his failure in the fight.

'Raphael, you're injured. Was it that cat?'

'No Sensei. ' Raphael took a deep breath and told his story to the group. Splinter nodded and handled the Shurika, turning it over between long and lithe fingers. Leo frowned at several parts in the story telling whilst Mikey was engrossed. Donnie gave the impression of listening but his eyes kept resting on the contents of the petri dish, eager to probe his new acquisition. After Raphael finished his account, he looked at Splinter, trying to find any indication of disappointment in his features and found him still staring at the weapon, his furry brow drawn, his whiskers lowered. In the seventeen years of being raised by their adoptive rat father, the brothers had become accustomed to his body language. When Splinter's whiskers twitched, he was agitated or frustrated and much to Raphael's relief, they remained perfectly still. It was Mikey who broke the silence.

'So, he must have been pretty big to be able to whup your…'

'Don't you dare finish that sentence,' Raphael growled. He glowered at his youngest brother who wore a slight smirk on his face with those large blue eyes sparkling in the dullness of the lair. He was the wind-up merchant of the group but often his questions were to the point and were a reliable barometer of everybody else's thoughts.

'It don't matter how big he was anyway. He's insane enough to pummel in a human face and then stalk them from the rooftops; he's got to have a screw loose somewhere.' Raphael dabbed some antiseptic on his ankle wound and geared him up for the inevitable.

'It might help to have a description, apart from the fact he wears a hockey mask,' said Leonardo.

Although in the last couple of years, Raphael and Leonardo's relationship was less fraught, there was still an air of competition between them which manifested at times. Raphael took in the soft but deep querying tone and looked at his brother. The light blue eyes were placid, his lids hooded and his demeanour was relaxed, seemingly unconcerned but Raphael knew his brother well and understood that Leonardo was already questioning what exactly happened at the confrontation and what had been said.

'There's not much to say. He was about six foot, wore a baggy hooded black top and black combats,' said Raphael. He looked at his ankle again and dabbed some more antiseptic on it.

Leonardo took in Raphael's body language and furtive looks and knew that there was more information to be squeezed out of his brother. He tried hard not to smile, wondering if Raphael knew how twitchy he became when he was hiding something from his family. Out of all of them, he was possibly the most sensitive although none of them would ever say that to his face, especially not Leonardo, who respected his brothers' privacy. They all had their burdens to bear and secrets they wanted to keep and living in close proximity all the time could test anyone's patience, even Donnie's, so they never pushed each other too far. Leonardo knew that in time, Raphael would come clean about whatever it was that made him take far too much interest in the small wound on his ankle.

'Hmm, at some point we all might end up meeting him, especially if this is a regular thing.' Leonardo looked toward splinter who was looking at the paved floor, still deep in thought.

'If I see him again, I'll kick his ass from here to Brooklyn,' spat Raphael.

'No. No, we don't wanna do that. I want to know why he's doing what he's doing first.'

'I told you Leo, the dude's psychotic. He beats the living crap outta people and wears a mask. What's there to find out?'

'Well, for one. I want to know exactly what he meant by saying you were smaller than 'the others.'

Leonardo raised one green –skinned brow and licked his lips. As far as the Turtles and Splinter was concerned, they were still new to the area. It was highly unusual to have another vigilante in the city, even one as big as the biggest of apples, and yet Leonardo had remembered a couple of nights during the past two years when he had come across bodies lying unconscious in alleyways, black and blue and the worse for wear but alive. On those times, he had carried the victims to a place where they would be found quickly. He had thought that they were gang members who had pissed off a rival faction but in retrospect, the truth was becoming a little clearer. They all had X's etched on their foreheads and although it was a common occurrence amongst most gang members now, back then the mark was an unknown thing, little more than a simple tattoo. It was a bit of a long shot, but Leo had the feeling that The X-Clan were being targeted by the vigilante and although it was tempting to take the man down, there was also the feeling that perhaps it was he and his family who were the ones intruding on the masked vigilante's patch.

Leonardo reviewed the options and turned to speak to Donnie and closed his mouth when he found that his brother had disappeared. He turned to look to Raphael.

'Goo?'

Raphael nodded and rolled his eyes. 'There's a turtle that needs to get laid.'

'He's not the only one,' piped in Michaelangelo, settling down to play some new online game about ninjas no less.

Raphael and Leonardo both rolled their eyes at this. It was just so expected.

'So, what do you think we should do?' Raphael asked Leonardo.

Leonardo rapped his fingers on his plastron and smiled at his brother. 'I'm thinking that I need to get Donnie to make another tracker.'

Raphael returned the smile. 'Right on.'

Amongst the clatter and soft grunting of Michelangelo's game playing, the brothers had not noticed that Splinter had also left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: April goes Underground.**

'This is April O'Neil, reporting from an abandoned train tunnel in somewhere under New York, sweaty, tired and thoroughly pissed off'.

April swung the torch side to side, sweeping a spotlight over tracks that were rusting in the damp environment and slowly being strangled by the weeds that coiled around its girth. She walked alone in the dark for twenty minutes and wondered with each step if this was truly the career for her. _What career?_ She thought with a wry smile. It had been two years since she was fired from Channel Five and although she had secured a job of sorts as a writer for a special interests magazine, it definitely did not hold the same prestige as her former job at Channel Five, actually it was nowhere near. She pointed the beam at the walls and saw the word HERE written in white chalk. Right, here we go…glory or death, she thought as she stopped.

'Hello?' She spoke in the gloom and heard the echo of her voice reverberate along the arched stone walls.

'Ms O'Neil. You're late.'

The reply came from somewhere in front of her. The voice was low and had a slight Eastern European accent that April couldn't place but there was no doubting the unease in his voice and that made her shoulders rise. She hoped that the man who contacted her two days ago was a potential lead to a good story rather than a maniac after her scalp. Standing in the dank tunnel squinting into the gloom, she started to feel fidgety. It was a professional hazard meeting people who would politely be described in everyday society as 'out there' and most of the time; April would be able to squeeze a story out of them over the phone or by email. This one was different and had asked for her by name. She remembered the look her boss had given her when he first got the call. It was a look that said 'keep your personal business personal'. April had returned a look of utter contempt as she took the phone from him. She often experienced sexism in her life and would not allow it to affect her in the workplace. A well placed witticism or barbed comment combined with a look of disgust used to be her weapon of choice but nowadays, she realised that a look would have to do. Time was too short to reason with people who refused to listen to reason.

The call was from a man who would not give his name, his profession or even a detailed reason for wanting to meet. April was close to ending the conversation when he said something that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She knew she had no option but to meet him when he said 'I need to meet the woman who fights alongside the Renaissance. It is vitally important. He is not dead. I repeat this to you… _He is not dead_. You know who I mean. Please meet me. It would mean…it would mean the world.' He told April the time, the day and the location for the encounter. The time and day was fine, but the location was extremely suspect and she was deeply unnerved by his plea but her gut instinct told her that she had to do it. It wasn't the fact that he'd mentioned the word 'Renaissance' or even the insistence that 'he' was not dead. It was the way he said 'it would mean the world.' There was an instance, a terror in his voice with this sentence that made the goose pimples on her arms stand to attention. And now she was where he had told her to be and her heart was racing. She had told no one of her whereabouts, not even the guys. As much as she trusted and loved them, a promise was a promise and they couldn't always be there for her, especially with the workload that had been hefted upon their broad shoulders of late.

'To be honest, I'm surprised I'm here at all. You said you had information for me.' April took on her reporter voice and tried to be as confident and forthright as possible. She didn't want to hang around in dark places with a strange man, no matter what her friend Vernon thought.

'I do,' said the voice in the gloom.

April squinted as the figure came toward her. First there was just a silhouette, and then he was close enough for her to see his round spectacles and thin, hunched demeanour limping out of the shadows, his limbs bent and shaking. The image recalled to April that of a dying spider. With his crooked form, he was shorter than her, but only just. If Raphael was around, he would have used the term 'Leprechaun' as he often did with her. It was a tease of endearment for April and she would respond by slapping the back of his shell.

'Well? I'm here.' April's tone was softer now. The man was elderly and treated badly in life, judging from his appearance. She felt a strong pang of pity and of guilt as she knew that a vulnerable person was more likely to spill out information. It was an advantage to her reporter's spirit and a burden on her sense of morality.

The man stopped a few feet from April and turned his head to the left and to the right. He was nervous and wasn't afraid to show it. 'Are your – ahem - friends here too?'

April clenched her jaw. 'No, they're not, but how do you know about them?'

The man peered around him before continuing. 'Your renaissance fighters are no secret where I work,' the man replied in a raspy voice. 'They are indeed a part of the research that our…department…works to strive toward. I believe their names are Michelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo and Donatello, are they not?' He looked again into the dark areas in the tunnel with an air of expectancy.

'You say they're part of your research. What did you mean?' April was incredibly anxious. For the few years she had known them, she was aware that people on the streets heard rumours and certain magazines had published the 'sightings' in stories that were afforded a column or two. She had worked hard trying to dispel those rumours in the publication she worked for. The guys had asked for her help and she responded as best she could. Now she could see that with the tools she had at her disposal, the result was disjointed as best.

'There is a lot to tell, April O'Neil and I beg for your patience. There are many things to cover and there is so little time left. I must stress that our planet is in grave peril.' He gave a shuffle when he saw the frown on April's face. 'My name is Ishka Petrovich and I work for a company which is owned by Eric Sacks. You know that name, I can see.

'Eric Sacks is in prison.'

'Ah, but his work survives. The company is under temporary ownership until he is released.'

'Released!' April growled and leaned toward the man, who in turn seemed to wilt.

'Please don't shoot the messenger Ms O'Neil. Sacks has money and connections and as you know as a journalist, the sword of justice gently taps on the wrists of those who have both money and connections.'

April breathed deeply. She knew that was true. She didn't like it but she had long suspected that Sacks would never serve a full sentence for his crimes. April knew he would never answer for the murder of her father as it had happened so long ago and there was only her and Vern's word as proof which was simply not good enough to pitch against Sack's high priced lawyers.

'Of course you know who is in charge of his company now?' The man asked.

'Yes. Hiro Kurosawa.' April had delved into the companies dealings after she had learned of the treachery of Eric Sacks and the name Kurosawa cropped up often. She had never heard of him until after the events in 2014. Even now, she knew little about him. He seemed to have just appeared from nowhere.

'He is merely the face of the company, working under its real leader. You know of whom I speak.'

April's mouth was dry now and her heart started pounding again. She knew what he was about to say before the confirmation came from his lips. She had long suspected a cover up and although the rational part of her mind told her that he was dead but deep inside, she knew.

'Who is it?'

'Oroku Saki.'

'He's dead,' she replied in a weak voice.

'I can assure you he is not. But there is something else, something worse that is pulling the strings. Sacks and Saki are merely puppets.'

'I don't understand.' April couldn't grasp that there was another force above The Shredder that could be more calculating, more evil. She didn't want to believe. She moved closer to the man and he jumped slightly. She held up her hands, placating the trembling man. 'Please, tell me everything,' she whispered.

'Yes, of course,' replied Ishka in a shaky voice. 'Are you hungry?

April frowned in the gloom of the tunnel. She hungered after the story to end all stories, a Pulitzer winner or something to propel her back into serious journalism but there was a feeling in her heart that this would take her down a path that was beyond, way beyond anything she had encountered before.

'Yeah, sure,' she said as she took a few steps toward the man.

…..

When April returned to her small apartment that evening, she headed straight toward the sofa, sat down and lowered her head into her hands. The lunch with Ishka had been a bust. Certainly there were things that he knew, frightening things that the general public were not privy to but as he had told his story to her over a salad that went largely untouched, April's rational mind bounced back into the fore and she couldn't or rather didn't want to believe what he was telling her. It was impossible.

Almost as impossible as meeting four six foot mutant turtles, said the voice in her head. She thought about her heroes in green. She wondered whether she should tell them and rubbed her temples. For the moment, the brothers were kept busy with the X-Clan and she didn't want to distract them with the insane ramblings of a strange and nervous man that she had met in the underground. Besides, she was struggling with a personal issue that wouldn't be helped by hanging around the guys, especially one of the guys in particular. It was a strange thing and she couldn't recollect exactly when the feeling hit her. She had dated Vern for a couple of months after the business with Sacks and Shredder's plans hit the ground – literally, but they both came quickly to the conclusion that they were not compatible. She was messy and disorganized, he was orderly and goofy and the attraction for April was not there. And so she was alone again, but not so completely alone as she had her green skinned friends on her side.

Back then she would never, ever have even thought about it. They were young, gifted and green no doubt but there was still some immaturity there and well, the fact that there were a different species didn't bear thinking about. She had tried to rationalize the feeling on many an occasion. They were mutated and more humanoid than amphibian, they spoke, stood, thought and felt like humans. They have opposable thumbs for crying out loud but still it just felt wrong. It was becoming an elephant in the room for her and sooner or later her behaviour might give her away. Each innocent hand on her shoulder was starting to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Every small glance became a Superman heat ray that threatening to turn her into a red smoking mess and lately he had begun to invade her dreams. It wasn't on. Career first. Weird infatuations would have to wait.

'April, snap the hell out of it,' she said aloud.

Rising off the sofa, April went into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. There was a wilting pack of salad, some cheese, a carton of yoghurt and some of yesterday's chicken. She stared at the offerings for some time.

'I'm not hungry.' She said with a sigh and shut the door.

She paced up and down the tiled floor for a minute before re-entering the living room. The first thing that caught her eye was the old sofa with its tattered beige fabric. She had been meaning to replace the cover for months but there was the problem of rent looming over her. April had seen three flatmates who had come and gone over the space of two years. They were lovely, career-driven ladies who provided some well needed female friendship for April, as well as sharing the cost of the rent and utility bills. The last of the tenants was Sandra, who worked in insurance and was fun loving, chatty and tidy and forever berating April for her lack of a sex life. She left three weeks ago to live with her fiancé. April missed her, she missed all of them. It felt lonely in the flat and knew that besides help with the cost of living, she mostly craved some company.

If only she had managed to get a position as reporter at one of the top news companies then she would just be able to manage the payments for a while. As it was, she was stuck as columnist for Phenomenal! A magazine that published stories about UFO sightings, ghost sightings, Bigfoot sightings (the Bigfoot phenomena was becoming increasingly green and amphibian) and conspiracy theories. The latter provided the bulk of the magazine and were written by chief writer, owner and April's boss Jack Claybourne. April was writer in charge of UFO's and ghost sightings which she enjoyed as much as a punch in the gut. Her cowriter was a boy named Michell Hardy –barely out of college and spottier than a truckload of fruitcakes. He was in charge of the Bigfoot sightings. Her other co-worker was the editor Catherine Johnson, who spent most of her time rewriting Michell's columns. She was quiet and efficient and occasionally snarky toward Jack. April liked her most of all but not enough to diminish the quite horrifying fact that she was working for a publication with an exclamation mark in its title.

April gave a long sigh and sat back onto the sofa, as battered as it was, it was the most comfortable thing in her life right now. What she needed was to be proactive. She needed another flatmate. Gathering up her notepad from the table, she started to compose an advertisement.

As for the insane story she had just heard from Mister Petrovich or as she mentally nicknamed him, the End is Nigh Guy, she would do some digging on the Shredder and Sacks situation but the rest of it was too much to swallow. Even Phenomenal! would baulk at the information. Besides, no one wanted to read about alternate dimensions and Portholes to Another World anyway.

A/N : Again, many thanks for the reads and the reviews. I hope you're enjoying the story.


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